


A great honour

by sleep



Series: What do you mean I have to "follow the prompt"? [1]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: M/M, cock sheath, living accessory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-09
Updated: 2015-04-09
Packaged: 2018-03-22 00:58:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3709151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleep/pseuds/sleep
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Optimus Prime has some special habits, and it is considered a great honour to be chosen to indulge these habits among the Autobot minibots.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A great honour

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fill for a prompt on the kink meme: http://tfanonkink.livejournal.com/13205.html?thread=14744213#t14744213  
> Contains Bumblebee being used as a spike-sheath. Consensual.  
> I hope you enjoy it!

Optimus Prime: Beloved leader of the Autobots, scourge of the Decepticons, beacon of hope for all races, recognizable everywhere he went in the universe, and, currently, owner of an unengaged spike. Word spread quickly through the Autobot base that Optimus wanted a minibot for a special, personal mission. Everyone knew what _that_ meant.  
  
Bumblebee beamed of pride as he made his way towards Prime's office, revelling in the jealous gazes of the other minibots. There were many more mechs up and about than was usual this early in the morning, but then again, this sort of thing only happened every once in a while. People wanted to watch as much of the show as possible. And as far as Bumblebee was concerned, it was the first time he had been chosen for the task.  
  
He stopped outside Prime's office, knocked, and was let in. Optimus stood – Bumblebee only reached up to Prime's knee – waiting. He saluted Optimus, and was acknowledged by a nod. “At easy, soldier.” Bumblebee was far too excited to relax. “Bumblebee, you have been chosen for this special mission: To adorn my interfacing equipment, until such a time that I announce the end of the mission. Up to that point, you will not leave my spike no matter what. During the mission, you are nothing more than an object. You are not to talk to anyone, nor communicate with them in any other way. You may make noises if the activities cause them. From the beginning of the mission till its termination, you are no longer a mech as far as anyone is concerned. Only speak if you think you might be sustaining damage at any point during the mission, in which case you are to report it immediately to me. Understood?” Bumblebee nodded. “Do you accept the mission, soldier?” Bumblebee could hardly wait for Prime to finish the sentence. “Yes sir!” “Good. Then we will begin the preparations for the mission.”  
  
The preparations for this particular mission was possibly the least boring – and most enjoyable – of all the prep Bumblebee ever had gone through. Optimus started by lifting Bumblebee up and placing him on his desk – conveniently cleared of all objects beforehand – and sitting down in his chair. “Retract your panel, please.” Bumblebee immediately complied – he left his spike's panel closed – and Optimus leaned in to inspect his valve.  
  
It was somehow very personal, and at the same time very impersonal; Optimus was testing the valve's lining, measuring its depth, stroking its soft walls – a thin layer of lubricant was already forming – and eventually gave an approving nod. Bumblebee felt like he had passed a difficult test. Prime then reached into his subspace, and pulled out a small, round object, with a string attached. It was almost like Optimus could read Bumblebee's mind, for he instantly answered the question on Bumblebee's glossa. “I just need to stretch you a bit first, and make sure you are relaxed and lubricated enough.” Bumblebee nodded.  
  
Optimus pressed a button on the small device, and it started vibrating. He then skilfully moved it around the edges of Bumblebee's valve, before letting it slip in, allowing it to softly massage his insides. When Optimus was satisfied, he removed the toy, cleaned it, and put it away again. Bumblebee was slack and relaxed, and the walls of his valve was covered in lubricant. Optimus nodded again, and stood up. He retracted his own panel, letting his impressive spike extend – boy, did Bumblebee understand why he was called _optimus_ – before lifting Bumblebee up again, positioning him just above the spike's head, and slowly lowering him down.  
  
The spike was massive. Of course, Optimus was at least three times his size, but even so, he was well endowed. Bumblebee could barely get the head into his valve, and that alone left his entrance stretched, had him gasping for cold air. Optimus started moving – headed for the door – and Bumblebee grabbed a hold of his midsection to avoid falling off. Not that gravity was likely to have allowed that, but he wanted to be on the safe side.  
  
Optimus then went ahead to proceed with his daily activities as planned. Bumblebee could see mechs staring at him, but no one commented or acknowledged his presence; it was almost like he was just some ornament. Which was part of the point.  
  
First stop on the daily order was a tactical meeting with Prowl, and while Bumblebee tried to pay attention at first, he quickly got bored. And either way, he had a much more interesting thing available to keep his mind occupied.  
  
–  
  
It was almost too slow to visibly notice as it happened, but when Bumblebee looked down at where he and Optimus were connected, he could see that more of Optimus' spike was inside him than earlier. He was slick and relaxed, but every time his valve got used to his current position on Optimus' spike, he could feel himself slide a bit further down, allowing Optimus to be buried even deeper inside him, stretching him again. It had been almost a cycle since he had had any need for holding onto Optimus in order to not fall off; he was now well secured by the spike inside him.  
  
It was a bit uncomfortable – the spike was just _resting_ inside him most of the time – but he felt full and satisfied, and leaning lazily against Optimus' midsection with his spike lodged inside him was a nice place to be. Optimus was in the middle of a talk with Ratchet, and there were mechs all around them, but Bumblebee was not paying attention. “Hold on.” The conversation halted for a moment, and Bumblebee felt himself being lifted up from the spike for a moment – oh, he felt to _empty_ – before being quickly lowered down again, now even further down on Optimus' spike than he had been before.  
  
He felt a rush of fluids coming from Optimus' spike, gushing into his valve, stretching him. Bumblebee gasped, and felt an overload rush through him, as his own transfluids mixed with Optimus'. The fluids slowly started trickling down Optimus' spike, as gravity did its job, forcing the sticky fluids to drip out of his valve, covering his thighs and splattering on the floor. People were staring at him as he gasped for air, moaning loudly.  
  
–  
  
Bumblebee had lost track of time long ago. Meetings and appointments came and went, and he was still snugly hugging Optimus' spike with his valve. Optimus was completely ignoring him most of the time – besides when he wanted to overload into the yellow minibot – but there were always someone else staring at him, watching the fluids drip from his valve and down Optimus' spike. Bumblebee was torn between being embarrassed and proud. But either way, he just hoped he was performing his mission up to standard.  
  
He looked down every once in a while to see how far Optimus had gone into him, and by this point, there was only a small section of the spike still visible. Good. Bumblebee's insides were stretched and filled almost to the brim, but he was sure he could welcome all of his leader, given a little more time. He patted his own abdomen – swollen and distended as it was – and went back to resting towards Optimus' plating. A shiver went through him as he glided even further down the spike.  
  
–  
  
Eventually, he did it; Optimus was fully sheathed inside him, at last allowing him to keep the whole of his leader's spike snug and warm. As he slid all the way down to the shaft, Optimus twisted him back and forth once, and another overload was launched into his stuffed valve. He had been leaving a small trail of dripping transfluid – and the occasional puddle whenever their leader felt like overloading – for cycles now, and he expected another puddle to form where Optimus was standing. But to his surprise, his valve-entrance was now completely sealed by the enormous spike resting inside him, forcing the new transfluid to remain inside him. Optimus went on to the next place he was needed. Bumblebee was sloshing a bit when Optimus walked.  
  
–  
  
Bumblebee was too full to even slosh, and he had stopped being aware of his surroundings many cycles ago. It came as a surprise when he suddenly found himself inside of the Prime's office again. Did that mean the mission was over? Optimus sat down in his chair, and pulled out a datapad. Apparently not. Not that Bumblebee felt like complaining about remaining on his leader for a bit longer.  
  
The Prime did paperwork for another cycle, while Bumblebee was propped up by Optimus' body and the table – he was too tired to keep himself up – one on each side of him. Optimus then put away the datapads, and spoke. Bumblebee was so used to being ignored that it took a few moments before he realized that he was the one being talked to, even though he was the only one in the room.  
He tilted his head upwards, and blearily looked at Optimus. “I said, the mission is finished.” Bumblebee sat there swaying for a moment, before finally replying. “Oh.” Optimus leaned back in his chair, took a firm hold around Bumblebee's waist, and slowly started pulling him off. A rush of transfluid – trapped inside of Bumblebee ever since he had been fully sheathed on Optimus – left him, and spread all over Optimus' crotch and chair. He was making a mess.  
  
Bumblebee whined when he finally was fully removed from Optimus, the cold air biting against his tender, exposed valve. He was placed on the table, and was left gasping and moaning as the rest of the transfluid ran down his thighs, and his valve tried to get used to the emptiness.  
  
“You did well on your mission, soldier. You make a good sheath.” Bumblebee smiled up at Optimus. After a while he got his bearings back, and he closed his panel. “Permission to leave, sir?” “Granted.” Optimus helped him down on the floor, and watched as Bumblebee unsteadily made his way to the door, and out into the hall, still leaving a small trail of transfluid as he made his way towards the washracks.  
  
Bumblebee smiled blissfully to himself; he really hoped he would be chosen for this mission again sometime. 


End file.
